Tongues! Oh, music of eastern tongues, harmonied murmur
of streets ahum!
Trade! Oh, frasila weights of clove--ivory--copra--copal
gum--
Rubber--vanilla and tortoise-shell! The methods change.
The captains come.
I was old when the clamor o' Babel's end
(All seas were chartless then!)
Drove forth the brood, and Solitude
Was the newest quest of men.
I lay like a gem in a silken sea
Unseen, uncoveted, unguessed
Till scented winds that waft afar
Bore word o' the warm delights there are
Where ground-swells sing by Zanzibar
Long rhapsodies of rest.
Wild, oh wilder than winter blasts my wet skies shriek when
the winds are freed.
Mild, oh milder than virgin mirth is the laugh o' the reefs
where sea-birds feed,
Screaming and skirling and down again. (Though the sea-birds
warn do captains heed?)
There is no public landing wharf at Zanzibar. Passengers have to
submit their persons into the arms of loud-lunged Swahili longshoremen,
who recognize one sole and only point of honor: neither passenger nor
luggage shall be dropped into the surf.
Their invariable habit, the instant the view-halloa is raised, is to
scamper headlong, pounce on the victim and pull him apart (or so it
feels) until fortune, superior strength, or some such element decides
the point; and then more often than not it is the victim's fate to be
carried between two men, each hold of a thigh, each determined to get
ashore or to the boat first, and each grimly resolved not to let go
until three times the proper fee shall have been paid. Of only these
two things let the passenger assure himself--fight how he may, he will
neither escape their clutches nor get wet. Rather they will hold him
upside-down until the contents of his pockets fall into the surf. Dry
on the beach or into the boat they will dump him. And whatever he
shall pay them will surely be insufficient.
But we had a privy councilor of England of our party, and favors were
shown us that never fall to the lot of ordinary travelers. Opposite
the Sultan's palace is the Sultan's private wharf, so royal and private
that it is a prison offense to trespass on it without written
permission. Because of his official call at the Residency, and of his
card left on the Sultan, wires had been pulled, and a pompous
individual whose black face sweated greasily, and whose palm itched for
unearned increment, called on Monty very shortly after breakfast with
intimation that the wharf had been placed at our disposal, since His
Highness the Sultan desired to do us honor.
So when the B. I. steamer dropped anchor in the great roadstead shortly
after noon we were taken to the wharf by one of the Sultan's
household--a very civil-spoken Arab gentleman--and three English
officers met us there who made a fuss over Monty and were at pains to
be agreeable to the rest of us. While we stood chatting and waiting
for the boat that should row us and belongings the mile-and-a-half or
so to the steamer, I saw something that made me start. Fred gazed
presently in the same direction.
"Johnson is number one!" he said, as if checking off my mental
processes. He meant Hassan. "Number two is Georges Coutlass, our
friend the Greek. Number three is--am I drunk this early in the
day?--what do you see?--doesn't she look to you like?--by the big blind
god of men's mistakes it's--Monty! Didums, you deaf idiot, look! See!"
At that everybody naturally looked the same way. Everybody nodded.
Coutlass the Greek, and Hassan, reputed nephew of Tippoo Tib, were
headed in one boat toward the steamer, the worse for the handling, but
right side up and no angrier than the usual passenger. Following them
was another boat containing a motley assortment of Arabs and
part-Arabs, who might, or might not be associated with them.
On the beach still, surrounded yet by a swarm of longshoremen who
yelled and fought, Lady Isobel Saffren Waldon and her Syrian maid stood
at bay. Her two Swahili men-servants were overwhelmed and already
being carried to a boat. Her luggage was being borne helter-skelter
after them, and another boat waited for her just beyond the belt of
surf, the rowers standing up to yell encouragement at the sweating pack
that dared not close in on its victims. Lady Isobel Saffren Waldon
appeared to have no other weapon than a parasol, but she had plainly
the upper hand.
"She has a way with her with natives," said the senior officer present.
"It's a pity," said Monty. "I mean, one scarcely likes to use this
wharf and watch that."
"Quite so. Yet we daren't accord her official recognition. She'd be
certain to make capital out of it. We're awfully glad she's going.
The Residency atmosphere is one huge sigh of relief. We would like to
speed the parting guest, but it mayn't be done. However, you'll know
there are others not so particular. I imagine her friends are late for
the appointment."
"Where's she going?" asked Monty.
"British East Africa."
"Mombasa?"
"And then on. She has drafts on a German merchant in Nairobi."
From that moment until we were safely in our quarters on the steamer
Monty's attitude became one of rigid indifference toward her or
anything to do with her. The British officers went out to the steamer
with us, but all the way Monty only talked of the climate, trade
conditions, and the other subjects to which polite conversation of
Africa's east coast is limited. Fred kept nudging him, but Monty took
no notice. Yerkes whispered to Fred. Then I heard Fred whisper to
Monty in one of those raucous asides that he perfectly well knows can
be heard by everybody.
"Why don't you ask 'em about her, you ass?"
But Monty refused to rise. He talked of the bowed and ancient slaves
of Zanzibar, who refused in those days to be set free and afforded
prolific ground for attack on British public morals by people whose
business it is to abuse England for her peccadillos and forget her
virtues.*
---------------
* In 1914 there were still thousands of slaves in German East, although
the German press and public were ever loudest in their condemnation of
British conditions.
---------------
We reached the ship, and were watching our piles of luggage arrive up
the accommodation ladder when the solution of Lady Isobel Saffren
Waldon's problem appeared. She arrived alongside in the official boat
of the German consulate, a German officer in white uniform on either
hand, and the German ensign at the stern.
"Pretty fair impudence, paying official honors to our undesirables, yet
I don't see what we can do," said the senior from the Residency.
Yerkes drew me aside.
"Did you ever see anything more stupidly British?" he demanded.
"It's as obvious as the nose on your face that she's up to some game.
It's as plain as twice two that the Germans are backing her whether the
British like it or not. Look at those two Heinies now!"
We faced about and watched them. After bowing Lady Waldon to her
cabin, they approached our party with brazen claim to recognition--and
received it. They were met, and spoken to apparently as cordially as
if their friendship had been indisputable.
"Did you ever see anything to beat it? Why not kick 'em into the sea?
Either that woman's a crook or she isn't. If she isn't, then the
British have treated her shamefully, turning their backs on her. But
we know she is a crook! And so do they. The Germans know it, too, and
they're flaunting her under official British noses! They're using her
to start something the British won't like, and the British know it!
Yet she's going to be allowed to travel to British territory on a
British ship, and the Heinies are shaken hands with! If you complained
to Monty I bet he'd say, 'Don't talk fight unless you mean fight!'"
"Monty might also add, 'Don't talk-fight!'" said I.
"Oh, rot!" Will answered. "British individuals may bridle a bit, but
their government'll shut its eyes until too late, whatever happens!
You mark my words!"
We strolled back toward our party in great discontent, I as much as he,
never supposing there was another country in the world that could so
deliberately shut its eyes to dog's work until absolutely forced to
interfere, by a hair not quite too late.
Coutlass and Hassan traveled second-class--the Arab and half-Arab
contingent third--and none of them troubled us, at present, except that
Will swore at sight of Coutlass swaggering as if the ship and her
contents were all his.
"To hear him brag you'd believe the British government afraid of him!"
he grumbled.
But an immediate problem drove Coutlass out of mind. Lady Isobel
Saffren Waldon had been given a cabin in line with ours, at the end of
our corridor. Her maid, and her two Swahili servants were obliged to
pass our doors to get to her cabin at all. As nearly all ships' cabins
on those hot routes do, ours intercommunicated by a metal grill for
ventilating purposes, and a word spoken in one cabin above a whisper
could be heard in the next.
Fred was the first to realize conditions. He opened his door in his
usual abrupt way to visit Monty's cabin and almost fell over the Syrian
maid, her eye at Monty's key-hole--a little too early in the game to
pass for sound judgment, as Fred was at pains to assure her.
The alarm being given, we locked our cabin doors, repaired to the
smoking-room, and ordered drinks at a center table where no
eavesdropper could overhear.
"It's one of two things," said Monty. He had his folding board out,
and we did not doubt he would play chess from there to London. "Either
they know exactly where that ivory is, or they haven't the slightest
idea."
"My, but you're wise!" said Will.
Monty ignored him. "They suspect us of knowing. They mean to prevent
our getting any of it. If they do know, they've some reason of their
own for not getting it themselves at present. If they don't know, they
suspect we know and intend to claim what we find."
"How should they think we know?" objected Will. "The first we ever
heard of the stuff was in the lazaretto in Zanzibar."
"True. Juma told us. Juma probably told them that we told him.
Natives often put the cart before the horse without the slightest
intention of lying."
"All the same, why should they believe him?"
"Why not? Zanzibar's agog with the story--after all these years. The
ivory must have been buried more than a quarter of a century ago. Some
one's been stirring the mud. We arrive, unexpectedly from nowhere, ask
questions about the ivory, make plans for British East Africa--and
there you are! The people who were merely determined to get the stuff
jump to the false conclusion that we really know where it is.''
"Q. E. D.!" said Fred, finishing his drink.
"Not at all," said Monty. "There are two things yet to be
demonstrated. They're true, but not proven. The German government is
after the stuff. And the German government has very special reasons
for secrecy and tricks."
"We four against the German government looks like longish odds," said
I.
"Remains to be seen," said Monty. "If the German government's very
special reasons were legal or righteous they'd be announced with a
fanfare of trumpets."
"Where's all this leading us?" demanded Fred.
"To a slight change of plan," said Monty.
"Thank the lord! That means you don't go to Brussels--stay with us!"
"Nothing of the sort, Fred. But you three keep together. They're
going to watch you. You watch them. Watch Schillingschen particularly
closely, if you find him. The closer they watch you, the more likely
they are to lose sight of me. I'll take care to have several red
herrings drawn across my trail after I reach London. Perhaps I'll
return down the west coast and travel up the Congo River. At any rate,
when I do come, and whichever way I come, I'll have everything legal,
in writing. Let your game be to seem mysterious. Seem to know more
than you do, but don't tell anybody anything. Above all, listen!"
Fred leaned back in his chair and laughed.
"Didums!" he said. "This is the idioticest wild goose chase we ever
started on! I admit I nosed it. I gave tongue first. But think of
it--here we are--four sensible men--hitherto sensible--off after ivory
that nobody can really prove exists, said to be buried somewhere in a
tract of half-explored country more than a thousand miles each way--and
the German government, and half the criminals in Africa already on our
idiotic heels!"
"Yet the German government and the crooks seem convinced, too, that
there's something worth looking for!" laughed Monty. And none of us
could answer that.
For that matter, none of us would have been willing to withdraw from
the search, however dim the prospect of success might seem in the
intervals when cold reason shed its comfortless rays on us. Intuition,
or whatever it is that has proved superior so often to worldly wisdom
(temptation, Fred calls it!) outweighed reason, and Fred himself would
have been last to agree to forego the search.
The voyage is short between Zanzibar and Mombasa, but there was
incident. We were spied on after very thorough fashion, Lady Saffren
Waldon's title and gracious bearing (when that suited her) being
practical weapons. The purser was Goanese--beside himself with the
fumes of flattery. He had a pass-key, so the Syrian maid went through
our cabins and searched thoroughly everything except the wallet of
important papers that Monty kept under his shirt. The first and second
officers were rather young, unmarried men possessed of limitless
ignorance of the wiles of such as Lady Waldon. It was they who signed
a paper recommending Coutlass to the B. I. agents and a lot of other
reputable people in Mombasa and elsewhere, thus offsetting the
possibility that the authorities might not let him land. (Had we known
all that at the time, Monty's word against him might have caused him to
be shipped back whence he came, but we did not find it out until
afterward; nor did we know the law.)
And at Mombasa we made our first united, serious mistake. It was put
to the vote. We all agreed.
"I can come ashore," said Monty, "introduce you to officialdom, get you
put up for the club, and be useful generally. That, though, 'll lend
color to the theory that you're in league with me--whereas, if I leave
you to your own resources, that may help lose my scent. When they pick
it up again we'll be knowing better where we stand."
"If you came ashore for a few hours we'd have the benefit of your
prestige," said I.
"I admit it."
"I suspect a title's mighty near as useful on British territory as in
N'York or Boston," said Will. "We'd bask in smiles."
"Not wholly," said Monty. "There's another side to that. There's an
English official element that would rather be rude to some poor devil
with a title than draw pay (and it loves its pay, you may believe me!).
You'd have friends in high places, but make enemies, too, if I go
ashore with you."
"What's your own proposal?" Fred demanded.
"I've stated it. I want you fellows to choose. There's no need of me
ashore--that's to say, I've a draft to bearer for the amount you three
have in the common fund--here, take it. If you think you'll need more
than that, then I'll have to go to the bank with you and cash some of
my own draft. I think you'll have enough."
"Plenty," said Will.
"Let's send him home!" proposed Fred.
"How about communications?" We had contrived a code already with the
aid of a pocket Portuguese-English dictionary, of which Fred and Monty
each possessed a similar edition.
"The Mombasa Bank, Will. You keep them posted as to your whereabouts.
When I write the bank manager I'll ask him to keep my address a secret."
So we said good-by to Monty and left him on board, and wished we hadn't
a dozen times before noon next day, and a hundred times within the
week. The last sight we had of him was as the shore boat came
alongside the wharf and the half-breed customs officials pounced
smiling on us. My eyes were keenest. I could see Monty pacing the
upper deck, too rapidly for evidence of peace of mind--a
straight-standing, handsome figure of a man. I pointed him out to the
others, and we joked about him. Then the gloom of the customs shed
swallowed us, and there was a new earth and, for the present, no more
sea.
The island of Mombasa is so close to the cocoanut-fringed mainland that
a railway bridge connects them. Like Zanzibar, it is a place of
strange delights, and bridled lawlessness controlled by the veriest
handful of Englishmen. There are strange hotels--strange
dwellings--streets--stores--tongues and faces. The great grim fort
that brave da Gama built, and held against all comers, dominates the
sea front and the lower town. The brass-lunged boys who pounce on
baggage, fight for it, and tout for the grandly named hotels are of as
many tribes as sizes, as many tongues as tribes.
Everything is different--everything strange--everything, except the
heat, delightful. And as Fred said, "some folk would grumble in hell!"
Trees, flowers, birds, costumes of the women, sheen of the sea, glint
of sun on bare skins of every shade from ivory to ebony, dazzling coral
roadway and colored coral walls, babel of tongues, sack-saddled donkeys
sleepily bearing loads of coral for new buildings, and--winding in and
out among it all--the narrow-gauge tramway on which trolleys pushed by
stocky little black men carry officialdom gratis, and the rest of the
world and his wife according to tariff; all those things are the
alphabet of Mombasa's charm. Arranged, and rearranged--by chance, by
individual perspective, and by point of view--they spell fascination,
attractiveness, glamour, mystery. And no acquaintance with Mombasa,
however intimate or old, dispels the charm to the man not guilty of
cynicism. To the cynic (and for him) there are sin--as Africa alone
knows how to sin--disease, of the dread zymotic types--and death; death
peering through the doors of godowns, where the ivory tusks are piled;
death in the dark back-streets of the bazaar, where tired policemen
wage lop-sided warfare against insanitary habits and a quite
impracticable legal code; death on the beach, where cannibal crabs
parade in thousands and devour all helpless things; death in the scrub
(all green and beautiful) where the tiny streets leave off and snakes
claim heritage; death in the grim red desert beyond the coast-line,
where lean, hopeless jackals crack today men's dry bones left fifty
years ago by the slave caravans--marrowless bones long since stripped
clean by the ants. But we are not all cynics.
Last to be cynic or pessimist was Louis McGregor Abraham, proprietor of
the Imperial Hotel--Syrian by birth, Jew by creed, Englishman by
nationality, and admirer first, last and all the time of all things
prosperous and promising, except his rival, the Hotel Royal.
"You came to the right place," he assured us when the last hot porter
had dumped the last of our belongings on the porch, had ceased from
chattering to watch Fred's financial methods, had been paid double the
customary price, and had gone away grumbling (to laugh at us behind our
backs). "They'd have rooked you at the other hole--underfed you,
overcharged you, and filled you full of lies. I tell the truth to folk
who come to my hotel."
And he did, some of it. He was inexhaustible, unconquerable, tireless,
an optimist always. He had a store that was part of the hotel, in
which he claimed to sell "everything the mind of man could wish for in
East Africa"; and the boast was true. He even sold American dime
novels.
"East Africa's a great country!" he kept assuring us. "Some day we'll
all be rich! Have to get ready for it! Have to be prepared! Have to
stock everything the mind of man can want, to encourage new arrivals
and make the old ones feel at home. Lose a little money, but why
grumble? Get it back when the boom comes. As it will, mind you. As
it will. Can't help it. Richest country in the world--grow
anything--find anything--game--climate--elevation--scenery--natives by
the million to do the work--all good! Only waiting for white men with
energy, and capital to start things really moving!"
But there were other points of view. We went to the bank, and found
its manager conservative. The amount of the draft we placed to our
credit insured politeness.
"Be cautious," he advised us. "Take a good look round before you
commit yourselves!"
He agreed to manage the interchange of messages between us and Monty,
and invited us all to dinner that evening at the club; so we left the
bank feeling friendly and more confident. Later, a chance-met English
official showed us over the old fort (now jail) where men of more
breeds and sorts than Noah knew, better clothed and fed than ever in
their lives, drew endless supplies of water in buckets from da Gama's
well.
"Some of them have to be kicked out when their sentences expire!" he
told us. "See you at the club tonight. Glad to help welcome you."
But there was a shock in store, and as time passed the shocks increased
in number and intensity. Our guns had not been surrendered to us by
the customs people. We had paid duty on them second-hand at the rate
for new ones, and had then been told to apply for them at the
collector's office, where our names and the guns' numbers would be
entered on the register--for a fee.
We now went to claim them, and on the way down inquired at a store
about ammunition. We were told that before we could buy cartridges we
would need a permit from the collector specifying how many, and of what
bore we might buy. There was an Arab in the store ahead of us. He was
buying Martini Henry cartridges. I asked whether he had a permit, and
was told he did not need one.
"Being an Arab?" I asked.
"Being well known to the government," was the answer.
We left the store feeling neither quite so confident nor friendly. And
the collector's Goanese assistant did the rest of the disillusioning.
No, we could not have our guns. No, we could have no permit for
ammunition. No, the collector was not in the office. No, he would not
be there that afternoon. It was provided in regulations that we could
have neither guns, sporting licenses, nor permits for ammunition. The
guns were perfectly safe in the government godown--would not be
tampered with--would be returned to us when we chose to leave the
country.
"But, good God, we've paid duty on them!" Oakes protested.
"You should not have brought the guns with you unless you desired to
pay duty," said the Goanese.
"But where's the collector?" Yerkes demanded.
"I am only assistant," was the answer. "How should I know?"
The man's insolence, of demeanor and words, was unveiled, and the more
we argued with him the more sullen and evasive he grew, until at last
he ordered us out of the office. At that we took chairs and announced
our intention of staying until the collector should come or be fetched.
We were informed that the collector was the most important government
official in Mombasa--information that so delighted Fred that he grew
almost good tempered again.
"I'd rather twist a big tail than a little one!" he announced. "Shall
we sing to pass the time?"
The Goanese called for the askari,* half-soldier, half-police-man, who
drowsed in meek solitude outside the office door.
----------------
* Askari, soldier.
----------------
"Remove these people, please!" he said in English, and then repeated it
in Kiswahili.
The askari eyed us, shifted his bare feet uncomfortably, screwed up his
courage, tried to look stern, and said something in his own tongue.
"Put them out, I said!" said the Goanese.
"He orders you to put us out!" grinned Fred.
"The office closes at three," said the Goanese, glancing at the clock
in a half-hearted effort to moderate his own daring.
"Not unless the collector comes and closes it himself, it doesn't!"
Fred announced with folded arms.
Will pulled out two rupees and offered them to the sentry.
"Go and bring us some food," he said. "We intend to stay in here until
your bwana makubwa* comes."
--------------
* Bwana makubwa, lit. big master, senior government officer.
--------------
The sentry refused the money, waving it aside with the air of a Caesar
declining a crown.
"Gee!" exclaimed Will. "You've got to hand it to the British if they
train colored police to refuse money."
The askari, it seemed, was a man of more than one kind of discretion.
Without another word to the Goanese he saluted the lot of us with a
sweep of his arm, turned on his heel and vanished--not stopping in his
hurry to put on the sandals that lay on the door-step. We amused
ourselves while he was gone by flying questions at the Goanese,
calculated to disturb what might be left of his equanimity without
giving him ground for lawsuits.
"How old are you?"--"How much pay do you get?"--"How long have you held
your job?"--"Do you ever get drunk?"--"Are you married?"--"Does your
wife love you?"--"Do you keep white mice?"--"Is your life
insured?"--"How often have you been in jail?"--"Are you honest?"--"Are
you vaccinated against the jim-jams?"--"Why is your name Fernandez and
not Braganza?"
The man was about distracted, for he had been unwise enough to try to
answer, when suddenly the collector came in great haste and stalked
through the office into the inner room.
"Fernandez!" he called as he passed, and the Goanese hurried after him,
hugely relieved. There was five minute's consultation behind the
partition in tones too low for us to catch more than a word or two, and
then Fernandez came out again with a "Now wait and see, my hearties!"
smile on his face. He was actually rubbing his palms together, sure of
a swift revenge.
"He says you are to go in there," he announced.
So we filed in, Fred Oakes first, and it seemed to me the moment I saw
the collector's face that the outlook was not so depressing. He looked
neither young nor incompetent. His jaw was neither receding nor too
prominent. His neck sat on his shoulders with the air of full
responsibility, unsought but not refused. And his eyes looked straight
into those of each of us in turn with a frank challenge no honest
fellow could resent.
"Take seats, won't you," he said. "Your names, please?"
We told him, and he wrote them down.
"My clerk tells me you tried to bribe the askari. You shouldn't do
that. We are at great pains to keep the police dependable. It's too
bad to put temptation in their way."
Will, with cold precision, told him the exact facts. He listened to
the end, and then laughed.
"One more Goanese mistake!" he said. "We have to employ them. They
mean well. The country has no money to spend on European office
assistants. Well--what can I do for you?"
At that Fred cut loose.
"We want our guns before dark!" he said. "It's the first time my
character has been questioned by any government, and I say the same for
my friends!"
"Oh?" said the collector, eying us strangely.
"Yes!" said Fred.
"That is so," said I.
"Entirely so," said Will.
"I have information," said the collector, tapping with a pencil on his
blotter, "that you men are ivory hunters. That you left Portuguese
territory because the German consul there had to request the Portuguese
government to expel you."
"All easily disproved," said Fred. "Confront us, please, with our
accusers."
"And that Lord Montdidier, with whom you have been traveling, became so
disgusted with your conduct that he refused to land with you at this
port as he at first intended!"
We all three gasped. The first thing that occurred to me, and I
suppose to all of us, was to send for Monty. His steamer was not
supposed to sail for an hour yet. But the thought had hardly flashed
in mind when we heard the roar of steam and clanking as the anchor
chain came home. The sound traveled over water and across roofs like
the knell of good luck--the clanking of the fetters of ill fate.
"Where's her next stop?" said I.
"Suez," Fred answered.
Simultaneously then to all three the thought came too that this
interpretation of Monty's remaining on board was exactly what we
wanted. The more people suspected us of acting independently of him
the better.
"Confront us with our accusers!" Fred insisted.
"You are not accused--at least not legally," said the collector. "You
are refused rifle and ammunition permits, that is all."
"On the ground of being ivory hunters?"
"Suspected persons--not known to the government--something rather
stronger than rumor to your discredit, and nothing known in your favor."
"What recourse have we?" Fred demanded.
"Well--what proof can you offer that you are bona fide travelers or
intending settlers? Are you ivory hunters or not?"
"I'll answer that," said Fred--dexterously I thought, "when I've seen a
copy of the game laws. We're law-abiding men."
The collector handed us a well thumbed copy of the Red Book.
"They're all in that," he said. "I'll lend it to you, or you can buy
one almost anywhere in town. If you decide after reading that to go
farther up country I'm willing to issue provisional game licenses,
subject to confirmation after I've looked into any evidence you care to
submit on your own behalf. You can have your guns against a cash
deposit--"
"How big?"
"Two hundred rupees for each gun!"
Fred laughed. The demand was intended to be away over our heads. The
collector bridled.
"But no ammunition," he went on, "until your claim to respectability
has been confirmed. By the way, the only claim you've made to me is
for the guns. You've told me nothing about yourselves."
"Two hundred a gun?" said Fred. "Counting a pistol or revolver as
one? Three guns apiece--nine guns--eighteen hundred rupees' deposit?"
The collector nodded with a sort of grim pleasure in his own
unreasonableness. Fred drew out our new check book.
"You fellows agreeable?" he asked, and we nodded.
"Here's a check on the Mombasa Bank for ten thousand, and your
government can have as much more again if it wants it," he said. "Make
me out a receipt please, and write on it what it's for."
The collector wrote. He was confused, for he had to tear up more than
one blank.
"I suppose we get interest on the money at the legal local rate?" asked
Fred maliciously.
"I'll inquire about that," said the collector.
"Excuse me," said Fred, "but I'm going to give you some advice. While
you're inquiring, look into the antecedents of Lady Isobel Saffren
Waldon! It's she who gave out the tip against us. Her tip's a bad
one. So is she."
"She hasn't applied for guns or a license," the collector answered
tartly. "It's people who want to carry firearms--people able
and likely to make trouble whom we keep an eye on."
"She's more likely to make trouble for you than a burning house!" put
in Will Yerkes. "If my partner hadn't paid you that check I'd be all
for having this business out! I'm going to let them know in the States
what sort of welcome people receive at this port!"
"You came of your own accord. You weren't invited," the collector
answered.
"That's a straight-out lie!" snapped Will. "You know it's a lie! Why,
there isn't a newspaper in South Africa that hasn't been carrying ads
of this country for months past. Even papers I've had sent me from the
States have carried press-agent dope about it. Why, you've been
yelling for settlers like a kid squalling for milk--and you say we're
not invited now we've come here! I'm going to write and tell the U. S.
papers what that dope is worth!"
"Ivory hunters are not settlers," the collector interjected.
"Who said we're ivory hunters?" Will was in a fine rage, and Fred and
I leaned back to enjoy the official's discomfort. "Besides, your ads
bragged about the big game as one of the chief attractions! All the
information you can possibly have against us must have come from a
female crook in the pay of the German government! You're not behaving
the way gentlemen do where I was raised!"
"There is no intention to offend," said the collector.
"Intention is good!" said Will, laughing in spite of himself. "There's
another thing I want to know. What about ammunition? We're to have
our guns. They're useless without cartridges. What about it?"
"The guns shall be sent to your hotel tonight. The provisional
sporting licenses--if you want them--will be ready tomorrow
morning--seven hundred and fifty rupees apiece--I'll charge them
against your deposit. If the licenses should be confirmed after
inquiry, I will send you permits through the post for fifty rounds of
ammunition each."
Will snorted. Fred Oakes yelled with laughter, and I gaped with
indignation.
"I'm going into this to the hilt!" spluttered Fred. "I wouldn't have
missed it for a fortune! We three are going to constitute ourselves a
committee of inspection. We're going to wander the country over and
report home to the newspapers--South African--British--U. S. A.--and
any other part of the world that's interested! We won't worry about
ammunition. Send us permits for whatever quantity seems to you proper,
and we'll note it all down in our diaries!"
We all stood up, the collector obviously uncomfortable and we, if not
at ease, at least happier than we had been.
Fred nodded to the collector genially, and we all walked out.
Mombasa is a fairly large island, but the built-over part of it is
small, so it was not surprising that we should emerge from the office
face to face with Lady Saffren Waldon. She was the one surprised, not
we. She probably thought she had spiked our guns in that part of the
world forever, and the sight of us coming laughing from the very office
where we should have been made glum must have been disconcerting.
She was riding on one of the little trolley-cars, pushed by two boys in
white official uniform, dressed in her flimsiest best, a lace parasol
across her knee, and beside her an obvious member of the
government--young, and so recently from home as not to have lost his
pink cheeks yet.
Had there not been an awning over the trolley-car she might have used
the parasol to make believe she had not seen us. But the awning
precluded that, and we were not more than two or three yards away.
"Laugh!" whispered Fred.
So we crossed the track laughing and the trolley had to pause to let us
by. We laughed as we raised our helmets to her--laughed both at her
and at the pink and white puppy she had taken in leash. And then the
sort of thing happened that nearly always does when men with a
reasonable faith in their own integrity make up their minds to see
opprobrium through. Fate stepped hard on our arm of the balance.
If built-over Mombasa is a small place, so is Africa. So is the world.
Striding down the hill from the other hotel, the rival one, the Royal,
came a man so well known in so many lands that they talk of naming a
tenth of a continent after him--the mightiest hunter since Nimrod, and
very likely mightier than he; surely more looked-up to and
respected--a little, wiry-looking, freckled, wizened man whose beard
had once been red, who walked with a decided limp and blinked genially
from under the brim of a very neat khaki helmet.
"Why, bless my soul if it isn't Fred Oakes!" he exclaimed, in a
squeaky, worn-out voice that is as well known as his face, and
quickened his pace down-hill.
"Courtney!" said Fred. "There's only one man I'd rather meet!"
The little man laughed. "Oh, you and your Montdidier are still
inseparable, I suppose! How are you, Fred? I'm glad to see you. Who
are your friends?"
At that minute out came the collector from his office--stood on the
step, and stared. Fred introduced us to Courtney, and I experienced
the thrill of shaking hands with the man accounts of whose exploits had
fired my schoolboy imagination and made stay-at-home life forever after
an impossibility.
"I missed the steamer, Fred. Not another for a week. Going down now
to see about a passage to Somaliland. I suppose you'll be at the club
after dinner?"
"No" said Fred. "We've an invitation, but I think we'll send a note
and say we can't come. We'll dine at our hotel and sit on the veranda
afterward."
I wondered what Fred was driving at, and so did the collector who was
headed across the street and listening with all ears.
"That so? Not a bad idea. They've very kindly made me an honorary
member of the club, but I rather expect there's a string to that--eh,
Fred, don't you? They'll expect stories,--stories. I get tired of
telling the same tales so many times over. Suppose I join you fellows,
eh? I'm at the Royal. You at the other place? Suppose I join you
after dinner, and we have a pipe together on the veranda?"
"Nothing I'd like better," said Fred, and I felt too pleased with the
prospect to say anything at all. Growing old is a foolish and
unnecessary business, but there is no need to forego while young the
thrills of unashamed hero-worship; in fact, that is one of the ways of
continuing young. It is only the disillusioned (poor deceived ones)
and the cynics, who grow old ungracefully.
We went upstreet, through the shadow of the great grim fort. The
trolley-car trundled down among the din, smells and colors of the
business-end of town. Looking over my shoulder I saw Courtney talking
to the collector.
"We're getting absolution, Fred!" said I.
"I'm not sure we need it," Fred answered. "I hope Courtney won't tell
too much!" So quickly does a man jump from praying for friends at
court to fearing them!
"Courtney looked to me," said Will, "like a man who would give no games
away."
"Glad you think that of him," said Fred.
"Why?"
"Tell you later, maybe."
But he did not tell until after dinner. (It was a good dinner for East
Africa. Shark steak figured in it, under a more respectable name; and
there was zebu hump, guinea-fowl, and more different kinds of fruit
than a man could well remember.) When it was over we sat in deep
armchairs on the long wide veranda that fronts the whole hotel. The
evening sea-breeze came and wafted in on us the very scents of Araby;
the night sounds that whisper of wilderness gave the lie to a tinkling
guitar that somewhere in the distance spoke of civilized delights. The
surf crooned on coral half a mile away, and very good cigar smoke (from
a box that Monty had sent ashore with our belongings) supplemented
coffee and the other aids to physical contentment. Then, limping
between the armchairs, and ashamed that we should rise to greet
him--motioning us down again with a little nervous laugh--Courtney came
to us. Within five minutes of his coming the world, and the clock, and
the laws of men might have all reversed themselves for aught we cared.
Without really being conscious he was doing it Courtney plunged into
our problem, grasped it, sized it up, advised us, flooded us with
priceless, wonderful advice, and did it with such almost feminine
sympathy that I believe we would have been telling him our love-affairs
at last, if a glance at the watch he wore in a case at his belt had not
told him it was three A. M.
"There's trouble" he began when he had filled his pipe. "You boys are
in trouble. What is it?" he asked, shifting and twitching in his
seat--refusing an armchair--refusing a drink.
"Tell us first what's the matter with you," said Fred.
"Oh, nothing. An old wound. A lion once dragged me by this shoulder
half a mile or so. At this time of year I get pains. They last a day
or two, then pass--Go on, tell me!"
He never sat really still once that whole evening, yet never once
complained or made a gesture of impatience.
"I propose," said Fred, with a glance at Yerkes and me, "to tell
Courtney everything without reserve."
The little old hunter nodded, watching us with bright blue eyes. I
received the impression that he knew more secrets than he could tell
should he talk down all the years that might be left him. He was the
sort of man in whom nearly every one confides.
"We're after Tippoo Tib's ivory!" said Fred, plunging into the middle
of things. "Monty has gone to drive a bargain with the King of
Belgium. Do you think it's a wild goose chase?"
Courtney chuckled. "No," he said. "I wouldn't call it that. They've
been killing elephants in Africa ever since the flood. Ivory must have
accumulated. It's somewhere. Some of it must be so old and well
seasoned as to be practically priceless, unless rats have spoiled it.
Rats play old Harry with ivory, you know."
"Have you a notion where it is?" demanded Fred.
Courtney laughed. "Behold me leaving the country!" he said.
"If I knew I'd look. If I saw I'd take!"
"Can you give us a hint?"
"There are caves near the summit of Mount Elgon that would hold the
world's revenues. None of them have ever been thoroughly explored.
Cannibals live in some of them. Cannibals and caverns is a combination
that might appeal to Tippoo Tib, but there's no likelihood that he
buried all that ivory in one place, you know. I suspect the greater
part is in the Congo, and that the Germans know its whereabouts within
a mile or two."
"How did they discover it?"
"Why don't they dig it out?"
"What keeps 'em from turning their knowledge into money?"
We had forgotten our own troubles. Courtney, too, seemed to forget for
the moment that he had began by asking us a question.
"Remember Emin Pasha? When was it--'87--'88--'89 that Stanley went and
rescued him? Perhaps you recall what was then described as Emin's
ingratitude after the event? British government offered him a billet.
Khedive of Egypt cabled him the promise of a job, all on Stanley's
recommendation. Emin turned 'em all down and accepted a job from the
Germans. Nobody understood it at the time. My own idea is that Emin
thought he knew more or less where that hoard is. He didn't really
want to come away with Stanley, you know. Being a German, I suppose he
preferred to share his secret with his own crowd. I dare say he
thought of telling Stanley but judged that the 'Rock breaker' might
demand a too large share. The value of the stuff must be so enormous
that it's almost worth going to war about, from the point of view of a
nation hungry for new colonies. Emin is dead, and it's likely he left
no exact particulars behind him. To my personal knowledge the Germans
have had a swarm of spies for a long time operating beyond the Congo
border."
"Were you looking for the stuff yourself?" I asked.
"Oh, no," he laughed. "But when I'm hunting I look about me. I'll
tell you where the stuff may possibly be. There's a section of country
called the Bahr el Gazal that the Congo people claim, but that I
believe will eventually prove to lie on the British side of the
boundary. It was good elephant country--which is to say bad living and
traveling for man--since the earth took shape out of ooze. Awful
swampy, malarious, densely wooded, dangerous country, sparsely
inhabited by savages not averse to cannibalism when they've
opportunity. The ivory may be there. If the Germans know it's there
they're naturally afraid the British government would claim the whole
district the minute the secret was out. Their plan may possibly be to
wait until a boundary dispute arises in the ordinary course of time
(keeping a cautious eye on the cache meanwhile, of course) and then
take the Congo government side. If they can contrive to have it
acknowledged as Congo territory, they might then pick a quarrel with
the Congo government--or come to some sort of terms with them."
"They've patience," I said, "if they're playing that game!"
Courtney raised his eyebrows until his forehead was a mass of deep
wrinkles. Then he blew a dozen smoke rings.
"Patient--perhaps. It's my impression they're as remorseless and
persistent as white ants--undermining, digging, devouring everywhere
while the rest of the world sleeps. Do you remember there was a mutiny
of native troops in Uganda not many years ago? Some said that was
because the troops were being paid in truck instead of money, and like
most current excuses that one had some truth in it. But the men
themselves vowed they were going to set up an African Muhammedan
empire."
"What had that to do with Germans?" asked Fred.
"Nothing that I can personally prove" said Courtney. "But I've a broad
acquaintance among natives, and considerable knowledge of their
tongues. Muhammedanism is spreading among them very rapidly. Over and
over again, beside camp-fires, and in the dark when they thought I was
not listening, I have heard them talk of missionaries from German
territory who spread a doctrine of what you might call pan-Islam for
lack of a better name. I said at the time of the Uganda mutiny that I
believed Germans were behind it. I've seen no reason to change my
opinion since. It's obvious that if the mutiny had by some ill chance
succeeded Uganda would have been an easy prey for Karl Peters and his
Germans. If that ivory of Tippoo Tib's is really in the Bahr el Gazal
at the back of Uganda, then the German motive for stirring up the
Uganda mutiny would be obvious."
"But doesn't our government know all this?" demanded Fred.
"That depends on what you mean by the word know," answered Courtney.
"I've made no secret of my own opinion!"
"But they wouldn't listen?"
"Some did, some didn't. The Home government--which was the India
Office in those days--took no notice whatever. One or two men out here
believed, but I think they're dead. When the Foreign Office took the
country over I don't suppose they overhauled old reports very
carefully. I dare say my letters on the subject lie inches deep in
dust."
"England doesn't deserve to keep her colonies!" vowed Fred, caught in a
sudden flood of indignation.
Courtney laughed.
"When you've seen as many of the other nations' colonies as I have
you'll qualify that verdict! We do our best. God gave us our work to
do, and the devil came and made us stupid! Take this country, for
instance."
"Yes!" agreed Fred. "Take this country! We came ashore today--left
Monty on board ship on his way to Europe. Nobody knew a thing about
us. A female woman, known to the police in Zanzibar and so notorious
in Europe that she's in no hurry to go home--said, too, on every hand
to be in the pay of the German government--chose to tell lies about us
to the chuckle-headed puppies in charge of Mombasa. Net result--what
do you suppose?"
"I know," said Courtney. "I've been told this evening." His eyes
changed, and his voice took on the almost feminine note of appeal that
came strangely from a big game hunter. "You boys must overlook things.
These boys you're angry with are younger than you, Fred. That
collector you've contrived to pick a quarrel with has fought Arabs and
cannibal troops--odds against him of fifty or a hundred to one, mind
you--all across the Congo and back again. He fought in the Uganda
mutiny. He's a man. He's a merchant, though, with a merchant's
education. He was taken over with the rest of the clerks when the
British government superseded the British East Africa Trading Company.
He has never had the advantage of legal training. Went to a common
school. No advantages of any kind. Poorly paid and overworked.
There's no money in the country yet. Nobody to tax.
Salaries--expenses and so on come from home, voted by Parliament. As
long as that condition lasts they're all going to feel nervous. They
know they'll get the blame for everything that goes wrong, and precious
little credit in any case. Parliament advertised the country in answer
to their complaints of no revenue. Parliament called for settlers.
But they're not ready for settlers. They don't know how to handle
them. They've no troops--nothing but a handful of black police. How
shall they keep in order colonials armed with repeating rifles?
They're not ready. The Uganda Railway isn't finished yet; trains get
through to Victoria Nyanza once a week, but there's endless work to be
done yet on the line, and Parliament grudges them every penny they
spend on it. Yet the railway was rushed through by order of Parliament
to prevent Doctor Karl Peters and the Germans from claiming occupation
of the head-waters of the Nile and so dominating Upper Egypt. You boys
must be considerate."
"All right," said Fred. "I'll grant all that."
"But what gets me" Will interrupted, "is that they should condemn us
out-of-hand--on sight--untried--on the say-so of this Lady Saffren
Waldon. She carries German letters of credit. She's so notoriously in
league with Germans that you'd think even these little Napoleons 'ud
know it. I'm American myself, thank God, but these two men are their
own kith and kin. Why should they judge their own countrymen unheard
on the say-so of a woman like that? That's what rattles me!"
Courtney blew six smoke rings.
"You'll have to forgive them, lad. Too many of the Englishmen who have
come here were bad bats from the South, so hot-footed that they burned
the grass. Then--don't forget that the Germans have a military
government to the south of us--all experienced men--a great many of
them unmitigated rascals, but nearly all of them clever--students of
strategy and psychology and tactics--some of them brilliant men who
have had to apply for colonial service because of debt or scandal.
They're overmanned where we are under-manned--backed up from home where
our boys are only blamed and neglected--well supplied with troops and
ammunition, where our police are kept down to the danger point and now
and then even without cartridges. The Germans have no railway yet, but
they've a policy and they keep it secret. We have a railway, and no
policy except retrenchment and economy. I'm convinced the German
government has no scruples. We have. So you must sympathize with our
young men, not quarrel with them."
"Believe me," I said, "we didn't start out to quarrel with anybody.
That woman lied about us. There's no excuse for believing her without
giving us a hearing."
"Oh, yes there is. I spoke with her myself this evening," said
Courtney. "She's staying at my hotel, you know. She's a match for
much more experienced men than our young officials. They've been
fighting Arabs, not flirting. She had the impudence to try to flatter
me. I don't doubt she's telling a crowd of men tonight that I'm in
love with her--perhaps not exactly telling them that, but giving them
to understand it. Why don't I stroll down to the club and deny it?
For the same reason that you don't openly denounce her! It's semi- or
wholly-sentimental chivalry--rank stupidity, if you like to call it
that, but it's national, I'm glad to say, and I'm as proud of it as any
one."
"Doesn't it look to you," said Fred, "that if she and the German
government are so infernally anxious to spoil our chances--and they
suspect what we're after, you know--doesn't it look to you as if there
may really be something in this quest of ours?"
"Undoubtedly," said Courtney. "There's ivory in it, tons and tons and
tons of ivory. Somebody will find it some day."
"Join us then!" said Fred. "Cancel your trip to Somaliland and come
with us! I can speak for Monty. I know he'll welcome you into the
partnership!"
"I believe I could almost speak for Monty, too," laughed Courtney. "He
and I were at Eton together, and we've never ceased being friends. But
I can't come with you. No. I'm making a sort of semi-official trip.
I shall hunt, of course, but there are observations to be made. The
pan-Islamic theory is said to be making headway also in Somaliland."
"Do you feel you have any lien on the Elgon Caves and Bahr el Gazal
clues?" Fred asked.
"No. I make you a present of those ideas. I'm sure I hope you find
the stuff. I'm wondering, though--I'm wondering."
"I'll bet you a dollar I'm thinking of the same thing," said Will.
"Out with it, then."
"What's to prevent the Germans from making their own dicker with the
King of the Belgians or with the Congo government, and rifling the
hoard on a fifty-fifty or some such basis?"
"Correct," said Courtney. "I confess myself puzzled about that. But I
know no European politics. There may be a thousand reasons. And then,
you know, the King of the Belgians has the name of being a grasping
dealer. The management of his private zone on the Congo is
unspeakable. It's possible the Germans may prefer not to risk putting
His Majesty on the scent."
"Well, we've our work cut out," said Fred, laughing and yawning. "That
woman has started us off with a bad name."
"That is one thing I can really do for you," Courtney answered. "I've
no official standing, but the boys all listen to me. I'll tell them--"
"For the love of God don't tell them too much!" Fred exclaimed.
"I'll tell them you're friends of mine," he went on. "I believe that
will solve the sporting license and ammunition problem. As for the
woman--if I were in your shoes I would steal a march on her. I
wouldn't be surprised if your licenses and ammunition permits were here
at the hotel by ten tomorrow morning. I see they've sent your guns
already. Well, there's a train for Nairobi tomorrow noon, and not
another for three days. I'd take tomorrow's train if I were you. I
always find in going anywhere the start's the principal thing. You'll
go?"
"We will," we answered, one after the other.
"Good night, then, boys; I'll be going."
But we walked with him down to his hotel--I, and I think the others,
full to the teeth with the pleasure of knowing him, as well as of envy
of his scars, his five or six South African campaigns, his adventures,
and (by no means least) his unblemished record as a gentleman. Merely
a little bit of a man with a limp, but better than a thousand men who
lacked his gentleness.